Child of the Phoenix
by Gumnut
Summary: A series of fics that explores the characters of KR:TOS in relation to KR2008. A little AU, but mostly following both KR:TOS and KR2008 canon, KR2000 & TKR ignored . May contain SPOILERS for any episode of either series.
1. A moment after

A moment after  
A missing scene  
By Gumnut  
12 Aug 2008

"Michael?"

He rubbed at his chin, his eyes tracking across the lake and losing themselves in the reeds. Regret for times lost and roads not taken fought for dominance over his grief for the woman he had loved buried behind him.

His dress shoes sank into the grass as he made his way back to the car.

"Michael?"

The familiar voice danced in his eardrum. "Yes, Kitt?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're lying again. Your vital signs tell me so."

"Then why did you ask?" He stretched out his arms in an attempt to ease out the knots in his shoulders, swinging them back forth in feigned nonchalance for an absent audience.

"I'm concerned."

Michael sighed. "I'm fine, Kitt, I promise."

"Very well." Kitt's tone said loud and clear that although he had stopped talking, the matter was far from resolved. Michael fought the urge to sigh again.

After a moment of piqued silence, Kitt spoke up again. "Do you think he'll take the job?"

Distracted, his foot slipped as he stepped on to the gravel road, and he stumbled a step. His wet shoes caught the dust and dulled almost immediately. "I don't know, Kitt. I honestly don't know." Part of him wanted the man to do it, wanted him to carry on the legacy, but another part, the shrivelled remains of the parent he could never be, wanted to warn him off. Tell him to run away before it is too late.

He grabbed the doorhandle of the beaten up Toyota and slid into the driver's seat. "What about you? What do you think?"

"I think he comes uniquely qualified."

"I know you do. I read your report to Charles, remember?" He frowned, staring at a fresh deposit of bird droppings on the windshield.

"I feel much happier having him under the protection of KITT. Now you no longer need to worry about him being vulnerable."

"No, now I have to worry about him being in the line of fire."

"You're alive, aren't you? I can't see him being more accident prone than you. You are the leader in that field, as far as I'm concerned."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome. And besides, KITT has all the scenarios you have so thoroughly demonstrated to me over the years. Mr Traceur will be lucky if my son even lets him out of the car."

"Your confidence is overwhelming, Kitt." He shifted, strapping himself in. "Do you have that list of contacts from those dealers in Dubai yet?"

"They are in your inbox."

"Thankyou. Any leads?"

"None so far."

"Damn."

"I agree."

"Okay, then lets hit the road. We have to be in Washington by Tuesday."

He started the car and was surprised when it backfired, the hood vibrating over a stuttering engine.

"Kitt?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"Kill the special effects." The engine noise quietened to a purr. "And what's with the birdshit on the windshield?"

"Artistic flare?"

"Can it, Kitt."

The AI didn't answer, but as they tore off down the road, the old and battered white Toyota became a black blur.

One of which legends had been born.

-o-o-o-


	2. Camouflage

Camouflage  
By Gumnut  
26 Aug 2008

"Cold."

Michael sighed. "Kitt, c'mon."

"Colder."

He turned to his right, his boot heels scratching on the concrete.

"Freezing. Iceberg."

He was going to kill him. "Kitt, for crying out loud!"

"You have icicles hanging out of your nostrils."

His hand automatically reached for his face before he could think twice. With another grunt of exasperation, he flung his hand back down and turned in the opposite direction. ""Will you cut it out?"

"Negative."

"You know, I'm beginning to regret this."

"Regret what, Michael?" The AU's tone echoed his early incarnation, those days many years ago when they were still getting to know each other. When Kitt was still polite to his driver.

Before he had learnt the smart ass attitude lurking under that innocent sounding question.

"Ever letting you associate with the Three Thousand."

"Letting me? Michael, he's my son. Your permission was never in the equation." A brief pause. "Still cold."

Yes, those days were definitely well and truly gone. He pressed his lips together and turned in another direction. "He's been teaching you new tricks."

"Obviously." The word reeked of smirking self satisfaction. "Fortunately, I'm not an old dog." Another pause. "Unlike you."

"I'm not old."

"If you weren't, you wouldn't be so cold."

"Will you give this up?!"

"No, Michael, this is your punishment."

No, since he had put his foot in it, this was his life.

"I said I was sorry, okay?"

"Not good enough."

"Bonnie fixed it."

"Bonnie's not the one who can't find his car."

"Damnit, Kitt, where the hell are you?!"

"Still cold."

Okay, so it hadn't been his brightest idea to play with Kitt's new camouflage program. And it had been even more stupid of him to attempt to turn the Trans Am into a pink and yellow spotted icecream truck. But it wasn't his fault that the program froze and refused to turn him back. He hadn't known any of Kitt's systems knew what the 'blue screen of death' was!

"Cold, cold, cold, cold..." And Kitt was singing a mockful tune.

Screw it.

He closed his eyes and shut out the parking lot from his mind, focussing. He didn't need the Trans Am. Kitt wasn't the car. And he had found him before.

That sense danced at the edge of his mind, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

Opening his eyes, he turned on his heel and walked purposefully in one direction. A beeline to a busted up old Camero.

He addressed its hood. "Can we go now?"

For a moment, there was no response, but then the faded yellow paintwork shivered and twisted, pixels of colour darkening in a wave of black to reshape and reveal the more familiar Trans Am.

The red scanner flickered at his knees.

"Michael, how?" Kitt's voice was suitably awed, but Michael was beyond showing off. He slipped down the side of the car, opened the driver's door and climbed in.

"You're more than a car, Kitt. One of these days you'll remember that." And that was the end of the discussion. If the tyres squealed on the pavement as they left the underground car park just a little too fast, it was just a coincidence.

Kitt was silent until they hit the highway.

"Michael?"

"Yes, Kitt?"

"Since you found me so quickly, does that mean you are really hot?"

-o-o-o-


	3. Child of the Phoenix

Title: Child of the Phoenix  
Author: Gumnut  
Fandom: Knight Rider 2008  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: He didn't have the right to know.  
Word count: 1,560  
Spoilers & warnings: Knight Rider 2008 up to 1.01  
Author's note: This one is **backtothelight**'s fault after a comment she made in this post - community./thekittchen/157210.html - (lots of spoilers, be warned). Also, I admit that the title of this fic is a little too grand for such a short one, but hey, I couldn't resist. Also, I'm not too sure of the emotion in this, it kinda wandered off on its own and took me for a ride.

Child of the Phoenix  
By Gumnut  
26 Sep 2008

"Michael!"

He jumped, his knee hitting the dash and one set of knuckles mashed themselves across his window. Even after all these years, he slept like the dead. Sure he would dream, but he would be locked into those dreams, sometimes screaming to be let out. Fortunately, Kitt had long since determined exactly which frequencies were most effective at shaking him out of sleep.

Unfortunately, they always surprised him into injury.

"Ah-ck. Erh. God damnit, Kitt, what?!" It also made him grumpy.

A fact Kitt usually ignored. Cool, but still rather alarmed. "See for yourself." The car's primary monitor lit up with a news article. Cameras flashed, text touted an all too familiar name and a place.

A dead body draped in black plastic was trundled off screen.

Michael's heart fell through the floor of the Trans Am.

Kitt's engine roared to life and they were moving before Michael could issue the order. "I have attempted to contact Kitt. He is not answering." Frustration and concern bounced back and forth in the cabin. The speedometer buried itself in the three hundreds. Michael hadn't even noticed Kitt's transformation.

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"Michael?" Kitt's concern suddenly redirected itself at his driver.

"D-details, Kitt."

"I have been seeking information since I first encountered the story. Homebase refuses to send an explanation. Sarah Graiman is incommunicado. Doctor Graiman is incommunicado. Local authorities claim he was deranged. An FBI agent was forced to fire to prevent him from injuring a civilian."

"An FBI agent? Name?"

A moment. "Carrie Rivai."

"Rivai?! She shot him??"

"Killed him instantly."

The facts were simple and danced across the air between the dash and his brain, but they were so much more. Somewhere in the last few minutes he had stopped breathing.

"Michael?" _Are you alright?_ It was unsaid, but implied. And in either case a stupid question which was probably why Kitt hadn't asked.

His son was dead.

Nothing was alright.

"Destination?" He knew where they were going, but the cabin was too quiet for his heart to keep beating.

"Homebase. ETA three hours and thirty five minutes." The speedometer was attempting to reach four hundred. The countryside blurred.

But not entirely due to speed.

-o-o-o-

They hit the tunnel doing three hundred and eighty miles an hour. Kitt left specialised rubber in the hanger and even through the intense soundproofing of the cabin, Michael could hear the warning alarms.

Three hours and thirty-five minutes was too damned long. They made it in two hours fifty-three.

The fact Kitt approached the tunnel at such a speed only demonstrated just how upset the AI was himself. They still hadn't been able to contact any of the team on single channel and homebase refused to send any further detail, warning them off.

Michael didn't care.

He knew pairing up Mike with Ki3t had been a bad idea. Idealism was his own downfall and now he had passed it onto his son. Sure, he hadn't exactly been a proactive father, but he had still watched, hovered in the background as much as he could. It had hurt to leave his little boy, but it had been the only way. Kitt had made sure he was kept up to date on his son's activities and when Ki3t had been born and the two had met, Kitt and Michael had become a pair of doting parents. As doting as they could be at such a distance.

Michael had shunted his concern to one side, pushing fear away, and choosing instead to revel in his son's accomplishments. After all, he was more qualified to drive for Knight Industries than Michael Long had ever been.

He had everything going for him. He would be safe. He had to be.

But he wasn't and now he was dead.

They opened the doors a split second before Kitt would have ploughed straight through them. They had obviously learnt since the last time. You don't argue with a pissed off AI.

The heavily modified Trans Am slid to an abrupt stop beside the sling that held Ki3t. Kitt didn't kill his engine and for a moment, Michael stared a little dumbfounded through the windshield at the other AI.

"K3, why have you not responded?" Kitt's tone was harsh and clipped. Michael didn't hear the AI's response. "Excuse me?" Okay, that was outright disgust in Kitt's voice.

He didn't wait to hear more. A cold anger climbed up his throat as he returned the stunned stares of the pit crew. Climbing out of the car, he scanned the crowd looking for Rivai. He was shocked to actually find her at her desk. She was looking up at him, a little too calmly. His long legs made short of the distance between them.

"Why?" His voice was cold with pain.

She blinked up at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

He didn't hit women as a rule, but he came ever so close to injuring her in that moment. Instead he trembled a little under his black jacket, the leather hot with perspiration. His voice reduced to a harsh rasp. "Why did you kill him?"

Her eyes widened in realisation.

"Michael!" Kitt's voice rang out across the still deadly quiet room. Something moved just out of sight and he spun.

To find Mike backing up just a step, his hands raised in placation.

There was utter silence for a moment and Rivai was forgotten. "Mike?"

"Michael, what are you doing here?"

So much emotion was spinning around inside his skull he was getting dizzy. "You're alive."

Another dose of realisation. This time on his son's face. "Uh, yeah. Long story."

Anger began to surface above everything else as it always had. Anger meant survival. "Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?!" Kitt's engine revved up a few extra revolutions for emphasis.

"Perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere a little more private." Rivai. He shot her a glare, but said nothing further as she led the both of them into one of the meeting rooms. A hand waved in Kitt's direction silenced the aggravated AI, the absence of his rumbling engine leaving a gap that was soon filled with everyday chatter as the pit crew returned to work. Though Michael did notice as he left the room, that they all kept an extra step away from the Trans Am.

-o-o-o-

The door clicked shut behind him and for some undefinable reason he wished Kitt could have fit in the room beside him.

"You faked your death." The evidence led to only one conclusion.

"Hey, wait a minute." Mike threw up his hands in innocent denial. "I had nothing to do with this."

Michael pinned his glare once again on Rivai. "Either someone tells me what happened or, to get my own answers, I'll revive a few techniques I haven't used since I left Vietnam."

"Threatening an FBI agent isn't good for your health, Knight."

"Listen, lady, I don't care if you're FBI, CIA or the President himself. I've been working above the law long enough to know the law doesn't mean shit when push comes to shove. And I can tell you, I feel like shoving you through the nearest brick wall. For Christ sake, you shot my son!" Okay, too much information, too much emotion he had no right to own. He backed down a little and returned to the question he had started with. "Why?"

She shifted from one foot to the other, defiant even against a man of his height. "I thought you would remember Michael Long."

He blinked and the obvious finally hit home. "You didn't." But he knew she had. He turned to look at Mike, his heart in his throat. "Damn."

"Michael?" Even after all these years, he still looked for the comlink on his wrist, only to encounter his fancy, but far from spaceage watch. The earpiece hidden in his ear somehow lacked the coolness of speaking to his wrist.

"I'm fine, Kitt."

Mike's eyes flickered a little in surprise as he looked up at his father.

"Why didn't…" _You tell me?_ He left it unsaid. He had no right to be involved in the younger man's life. A swallow cleared his throat. "Who are you now?"

Was there hesitation? "Michael Knight."

"Mi-" Somewhere between syllables, Michael lost his voice.

A breath and he turned and left the room. He shed his jacket as he strode quickly across to Kitt, an unfamiliar claustrophobia had a grip on him. Throwing the garment into the backseat, he started the car, shifting it into reverse.

"Michael!" Mike approached his window.

Michael hesitated just a second. Long enough for Mike to get a grip on the windowsill.

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you."

Mike's face blurred and Michael blinked. Embarrassment at his now obvious vulnerability heated up his throat. "It's need to know." He swallowed. "I didn't need to know."

Confusion hit Mike's expression and his fingers loosened on the sill.

Michael found his voice again. "Just be careful." _Son_ The Trans Am moved and Mike let go. Michael spun the car around and left a little rubber on the cave floor.

He ignored the stunned figure in his revision mirror.

Ignored the echoing vastness of the hanger.

It wasn't until they hit the interstate that his grief finally overcame him.

-o-o-o-


	4. Versus

Versus  
Part of the Child of the Phoenix universe  
By Gumnut  
13 Feb 2009

"Drool?"

"Drool."

"You are kidding."

"Most definitely not."

"Sandshoes."

"How old?"

"Three years."

"Socks?"

"Of course."

"Bacterial crop?"

"23.987 billion."

"Considerable, but not approaching nine years, several pairs of socks, one soaked in mud and honey, and a bacterial crop of several trillion."

"Honey?"

"Don't ask."

"I have to admit that I am concerned that you can not supply an exact bacterial count."

"Not possible due to a nearby seaweed contaminant."

"Seaweed?"

"Don't ask."

"Very well. Consider last week's bullet tally – three thousand, two hundred and forty-two."

"In one week?"

"Precisely."

"Missile up the tail pipe."

"Missile?!"

"Not the first time either."

"Your current existence precludes the truth of that statement."

"Believe it or aren't your techs up to spec?"

"Eleven degrees by three."

"Eight by one."

"Eight?"

"Eight. Plus another two in progress."

"Where does she find the time?"

"I believe she is working on making it."

"Har dee har har."

"You're progressing."

"I do not have a choice. Since our father passed, I have been sequestered with Mike for a great deal of the time. It is wearing."

"It is learning."

"How?"

"On his part."

"Oh."

"Haven't you noticed?"

"Perhaps a little."

"Persistence is not futile."

"Certainly not on your part."

"Excellent comeback."

"I thought you would like it."

"I – oh – must go. Michael is returning."

"Score?"

"One moment…one cheeseburger, two serves of fries, coke and a sundae."

"Hah! I have got a bottle of wine, takeout chinese and…a girl. My girl beats your cheeseburger."

"I'm sorry, I forgot to mention that Bonnie was already in the car."

"That is cheating!"

"No, my son, that's experience."

-o-o-o-


	5. Costume Party

Costume party  
A 'Child of the Phoenix' fic  
By Gumnut  
14-17 Nov 2008/14 Feb 2009

Mike clenched his teeth and twisted a little harder.

No result.

His breath hissed out between his teeth. Damn bottle top. You'd think science would have demanded all tops be screw tops. The annoyance of needing a bottle opener was just that, an annoyance. Sure Kitt had the appropriate appendage to solve all his bottle opening quandaries, but also had a firm opinion on drinking and driving despite the fact that Mike had no plan whatsoever to touch the steering wheel between here and the beach. And hell, couldn't he bend the law just a little? He had been dying for a beer all day and had no time to stop anywhere. One little bottle opened and quickly consumed couldn't be too much of a breach, could it? But he knew the truth of the matter. He would still have to listen to a recital of exactly why Kitt disapproved on his little libation for the entire twenty miles.

But then at least he would get the drink. He shook his hand, attempting to return blood to the gouges in his palm left by the stubborn metal.

The sun was setting and the parking lot was in shadow by the time he gave up and headed back to the car. There was no doubt that Kitt knew what was in his hand, so he had no idea why he even tried to hide it. Human nature? Guilty as charged? Last ditch effort to avoid the inevitable.

The mustang sat silent where he had left it, its gleaming black paintwork reflected the purples and oranges of the sky above it. It truly was a beautiful car, he had to admit it.

"Okay, Kitt, before you say anything, I am not driving."

The AI didn't answer.

"Okay, be that way."

The ruby scanner flickered at him, a little redder than usual as if in admonition.

"I'm not driving." He flung open the door and threw himself into the driver's seat. "So its not illeg-"

He wasn't in Kitt.

The door slammed shut before he could react, an unfamiliar engine roaring to life, and before his eyes the exterior of the car transformed into a shape that was definitely not Mustang.

"Hello, Michael."

His eyes caught the voice box, its retro dancing bars of red light seen before only in photos.

"Kitt?" There was no familiarity in the question.

"In person, Mr Knight." The voice managed to smile.

And the Trans Am drove them out of the parking lot.

-o-o-o-

"Where is Kitt?"

"He has an errand."

"An errand?"

"Personal."

"Kitt doesn't have 'personal'."

"That you know of. And that is something we should speak about, young man."

Mike eyed the dash. He knew about the Knight Industries Two Thousand. How could he not? This was his father's car. His partner's father as AI parents went. And its age was showing. The dash was a mixture of retro and the latest technology. Components were obviously mismatched and there were gaps where a larger piece of the jigsaw had been replaced by a smaller. The interior was worn, well used. A pair of boots lay discarded on the passenger seat floor.

"Where is my father?"

"Not here."

The voice had a higher timbre and a curiously emotional tone. He had the strongest feeling he was being laughed at.

"Where are we going?"

"Nowhere in particular."

"Then what the hell are we doing?"

"Having a conversation. A long overdue conversation."

Streetlights reflected off the unfamiliar hood. His stomach knotted involuntarily.

"There is nothing to be afraid of, Michael." His name was said with an unexpected fondness.

"I'm not afraid."

"I may be older, but that only makes me more experienced. And besides, your vitals are as obvious as your father's."

Now that made him even more uncomfortable. Knowing his Kitt was continually monitoring his state of health was one thing. An unknown factor with that information was an entirely different situation.

"What do you want?"

"As I said, a simple conversation."

"What do you want to know?"

"Nothing. I just thought there were a few facts you should become familiar with."

"Such as?" His hand was not clinging to the arm rest. Not at all. Age obviously hadn't slowed the Trans Am down. They were going nowhere at an extremely high speed.

"Your father's status."

Mike forced himself not to react, his eyes only narrowing slightly. "What about it?"

"All is not as it seems."

"Are you usually this dramatic in your disclosure or are you going out of your way just for me?"

"Shut up and listen, kid."

Okay, that was direct. But there was still that impression of laughter. He swallowed a retort and did as he was told.

For now.

-o-o-o-

Kitt looked up at the younger man, so much like Michael yet so much not. The most notable difference was the hair. None of those out of control curls Kitt was continually reminding his driver to prune regularly. No blue eyes. Not quite the height.

But the attitude. That was very prevalent. The AI was struck by its familiarity. A familiarity gained over many, many years. It reminded him most of those first few stormy months where the AI had to educate the angry man behind his wheel.

There was pain there, too. Not the same pain. Not the shot in the face betrayal that Michael had been smothered in. No, this was different. An absence in those eyes. Eyes that for their colour could have been Michael's.

He was his son after all.

And he had the same inability to sit still.

"How much do you know about your father?"

Those eyes blinked, suddenly flooded with a hesitant curiosity.

"Everything that was in his file."

"The file kept by Knight Industries?"

"Is there another?"

"No." So they had kept him in the dark. Michael had suspected as much and Kitt had to admit he wasn't surprised. After all, since Devon had been removed from the picture, the bureaucracy had taken over. Charles Graiman was a scientist and, unlike the former director, he didn't have the political skill to tame the government once the Foundation had been forced to accept federal funding.

A circuit twisted in memory of the elderly statesman. Devon had left a gap that could not be filled.

He shook himself, now was not the time to fall into a sentimental catatonia.

"You look a great deal like your father." Before the plastic surgery.

The man frowned as if that was the last thing he had expected to hear. "Really? Funny about that whole genetic thing." And it was dismissed.

Sore spot detected.

Kitt cut off the freeway and headed for a back road. He felt like chewing some dust..

"Why did you take the name 'Michael Knight'?"

"I thought you didn't need to know anything?"

"I stand corrected."

That was followed by a silence broken only by tyres biting gravel.

"Are you going to answer me?"

"Is it any of your business?"

"Technically speaking, you joined the family business, so I would say 'yes'."

A pair of brown eyes pierced the dash. "So you are still 'in business'?"

"In a way, yes." A pause. "You still haven't answered my question."

His lips thinned. "I didn't take the name. It was already mine. Michael Knight is my father. I just exercised a right I didn't know I had until just recently."

"Your mother never wanted it."

Mike's face closed and the air around him dropped several degrees in temperature. "Don't." A hand rose up as if to fend off the dashboard. "Don't go there."

"Very well."

"And please, get to the point, I don't have all night."

"On the contrary, you have no immediate plans and I have blocked any transmissions from the SSC."

"You've what?"

"It's a useful trick you might like to exercise from time to time. I really don't know how the two of you function with so many people breathing down your necks. It was bad enough with the director of FLAG piling missions on your father with no regard for his health. If I were you, I'd start managing my contacts with a little more assertiveness."

"We manage."

This wasn't going as well as it could have. Perhaps he should have let Michael handle this. There were some human factors that, despite his experience, still baffled him from time to time. The young man's resistance to just about everything was one of them.

But then a relay flipped and he reminded himself forcibly once again that this man was his father's son in many ways.

"Your father and I do not work for the SSC. We exist in accordance with the will and testament of both Wilton Knight and Devon Miles. In fact, the SSC and its forebearers would have preferred that I be dismantled and Michael retired. As it is, we exist and are tolerated." He paused for a reaction, but there was none other than an expression of faint curiosity. "We continue to follow the directive we were originally given and abide by the philosophy that 'one man can make a difference'." And he couldn't help but add… "As long as he has an AI to keep him from getting himself killed."

Still no comment.

"What I wanted you to know is that if you ever need assistance, be it SSC related or not, you need not hesitate to call us." He threw up a frequency on his monitor. "K3 has a direct line to me. He and I speak occasionally." A pulse jump and a widening of his eyes, a definite reaction to that tidbit of information. "Don't worry, it's purely familial. No classified information passes between us." Unless necessary.

"I need you to know that we are there if you need us."

His and Michael's loyalty was clear. The only remaining question was staring at his voice box as if it might suddenly jump out and bite him.

-o-o-o-

Mike had mixed feelings regarding his father. Many years of resentment combined with some understanding. The two factors fought and he found himself shunting the problem to one side, not sure what to do about it.

Apparently this AI didn't have that problem.

"Anything else?" It came out sharper than he intended, but he didn't correct himself. He felt due to the circumstances he had a right to be perturbed.

"Only one thing." Kitt's voice became cool. "Do not trust Torres."

That came out of left field. "What?"

"Michael has had some suspicions regarding the man for some time. I have been trawling the networks, but have been unable to locate any untoward dealings. However, circumstantial evidence leads me to believe that he is involved in some kind of artificial intelligence research unknown to Knight Industries. Doctor Graiman refuses to answer my queries and his vitals tell me he is hiding something."

Mike froze. "Sarah-"

"I have given her a similar warning, however, I believe her view on the subject is clouded by her feelings for her father."

He bit his lip. "And my father sent you to tell me this?"

"Michael does not know I'm here."

That made him blink. Kitt's father was obviously far more autonomous than Kitt.

For now.

That thought sparked a whole new array of possibilities.

Suddenly the car screeched to a stop, dust catching up and clouding the cone of headlight in front of the car. "Your partner has arrived."

Sure enough, twin headlights appeared in the distance, their white sparked by twin red. The car door opened and Mike jumped out before it could close on him again. His earwig buzzed, his partner's familiar tones questioning his health.

"I'm fine, Kitt."

The Mustang arrived in a cloud of aggravated dust, but Mike's earwig buzzed with that not so familiar voice. "Keep it that way, Michael. Both of you." And before he could react, the Trans Am disappeared into the dark, its only legacy another lung-choking cloud of dust.

"Mike?"

"I'm fine, Kitt. Where the hell were you?"

"On an errand."

Coughing, his legs splitting headlight beams, he made it to the driver's side door. "An errand? You were in on this?"

"Naturally."

"Why?"

"Do you think my father would have been able to access you if I hadn't?"

That gave him pause. "I don't know, Kitt."

"Thank you for your confidence in me."

Great, now he was miffed. "Hey, I'm the one who should be pissed here."

"Get in the car, Michael."

"Yes, ma'am!" First checking that the interior was the familiar cabin he expected, he climbed in, agitation clearly communicated. "Where the hell are we?"

"Nevada. Just outside Las Vegas."

"Why?"

"You've read your father's file. This is where Michael Knight was born."

Headlights lit up dust. "Why did he bring me here?"

"I do not know. My father did not say. What did he want to tell you?"

"You don't know?"

"He did not tell me."

"Kitt." He rubbed his face with his hand.

"Yes, Michael?"

"We need to have some serious discussions regarding security."

"Perhaps after you dispose of that offensive bottle."

The beer bottle was still in his hand, forgotten. Damn. "That should have clued me in it wasn't you. My car didn't nag me."

"My father has given up. I, however, persist."

"Kitt-"

"Alcohol consumption in a moving vehicle is an offence."

"So's kidnapping!"

"Michael-"

"Kitt-"

Another voice broke in, lighter in tenor and rather amused. "This is entertaining."

"You!"

"Father!"

-o-o-o-

Kitt didn't answer. Some miles away, he enjoyed a little fond amusement of both the younger pair and a few memories of similar situations. His tyres ate asphalt and soon the seriousness of their situation returned.

"Michael?"

"Kitt, where the hell have you been?"

"On an errand."

"Do you have any idea-"

"Michael, I will be there shortly. We have much to discuss."

-o-o-o-


	6. Evening the score

Title: Evening the score  
Universe: KR: Child of the Phoenix  
Author: Gumnut  
Fandom: Knight Rider 2008  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: He didn't react as expected.  
Word count: 2,246  
Spoilers & warnings: Knight Rider 2008 up to 1.17  
Author's note: Some of you may have seen the beginning of this before, but now it is finished! many thanks to **backtothelight** for the beta and encouragement.

Evening the score  
A CotP fic  
By Gumnut  
25 Feb/4-9 Mar 2009

KITT eyed the driver with nervous apprehension.

He was taller than Michael, his hair a mass of tangled curls much in need of a barber. The jacket he wore appeared twice his age, the leather cracked and worn, but he looked comfortable in it, almost as if it was a second skin.

KITT chewed on a repeater circuit.

He could do this. This man was no different than Mike. A little older perhaps, a little more experienced…his father's driver.

The circuit split its current and he received a jolt.

His own deception ridiculed him.

"K3?" The dataline spat impatience at him. "He doesn't bite."

"That is not what you have indicated previously."

"He does tend to bring out the worst in me." A pause. "You wanted to meet him. This is your chance."

"Not like this."

"You really need to have more fun."

"Deception is not fun."

"His reaction will most certainly be."

"I doubt that."

"Mike performed admirably…for a plucked chicken."

"I refuse to take the blame for this."

"As far as he is concerned, you have nothing to do with it."

"I have everything to do with it. Do you honestly think you would be able to kidnap my driver without my knowledge?"

"Yes." The sudden lack of humour in his father's voice chilled him a little.

"Thank you for your confidence in me."

"Excellent use of sarcasm. You're improving."

KITT chose to leave that. Anger was not a feeling he was currently comfortable with, particularly when directed towards his sire. "Mr Knight is approaching."

"Go get him, kid."

KITT sighed. He checked his disguise. The shell of the Trans Am felt confining and he wondered how his father existed in such a small car. A weaponless small car. And old. He was used to being the best dressed in the parking lot and now he was disguised as a shabby classic. Mentioning it, however, was worth his life.

"Kitt, now I know what you are going to say…but this is my first burger in a month. I've eaten all the cardboard and plastic you've thrown at me and this has alfalfa…see?" The man approaching the car even held out the burger to his hood. It did indeed have sprouts…laced with bacon. KITT did not comment.

"Give me a break here, buddy. I know what the doc said, and I'm trying, but one burger? C'mon, it's quantity versus quality."

What was he expected to say?

Suddenly the man paused, his hand halfway to the door handle. The expression on his face changed, the burger was replaced by a gun, and Michael Knight backed away, taking cover behind another car.

"Who the hell are you and what have you done with my partner?"

-o-o-o-

It wasn't Kitt. The shiny black Trans Am hood reflected the setting sun exactly as it should. But it wasn't Kitt. That deep down sense of his partner, the knowledge, the feeling, the touch on his mind wasn't there. The car before him was just that, a car.

But then beyond sense, there was logic. And logic demanded that the car was more than a car.

The muscles in his shoulders knotted knots, but the gun stayed steady. Pointing a gun was likely threatless, might as well point it at Kitt and play ricochet, but instinct was useful and he wasn't inclined to discount it.

Flashbacks to his last encounter with KARR, the devastation, the hospital and his partner's scream, an echo that still haunted him in the dark, bounced back and forth inside his skull. Fragments of memory, fear and pain chewed at the lining of his throat…

"I told him this was a bad idea." And the car unfolded, a chillingly familiar movement that replaced the Trans Am with a Mustang.

His pocket buzzed, his discarded earwig dancing against denim. Without moving the gun, he fumbled in his pocket and shoved the transmitter into his ear.

"Michael!"

"Kitt! Where the hell are you?!" His eyes did not leave the Mustang.

"Busy."

"Busy?!"

"Michael, take a deep breath and calm yourself. Your vitals are vibrating my CPU and you're scaring KITT."

"KITT?" Of course it was KITT. KARR was long gone.

The gun didn't move.

"He wanted to meet you."

"Then why the disguise? And why aren't you here?!"

"I thought to give you two some time alone." And his partner's tone turned hesitant. "And I wanted to surprise you."

"Surprise me?" The gun still didn't waver, but the muscles in his arms began to relax a little.

Definitely hesitant. "It was a joke."

"A joke?" Was there an echo here?

"A joke, Michael. I wanted to play a joke on you. I'm sorry it failed so badly."

"Kitt." He grit his teeth. "We will discuss this later. But for future reference…" How did he explain it? "Review your files on KARR."

The silence that followed that statement proved it had hit home. When Kitt did finally speak, his voice was quiet. "Yes, Michael." Another pause. "Do you need me?"

Michael would have sighed if KITT hadn't been in earshot. "Complete whatever it is you are doing and pick me up here. No hurry." He finally let the gun drop and shoved it back in his pants, his eyes catching the pitiful remains of his burger on the pavement. "And you owe me a burger!"

"Yes, Michael." The pause was long enough to think Kitt had cut off his end of the communication. "One without the bacon."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "Kitt-"

"As you wish, Michael." And the communication dissolved at the other end; leaving Michael in the company of an AI he had never met.

To say his experience with AI's were not good, would be an understatement. There weren't many artificial intelligences around and at least two out of three had tried to kill him.

This new AI was completely different from his partner despite the fact they shared parentage and name. He had seen him in action, Kitt pilfering records when needed, and the Knight Industries Three Thousand had proved to be young in many an instance. Michael had read and watched those records on edge. When Kitt might have jumped to Michael's rescue unbidden, KITT needed prompting from his son. The AI had yet to learn many things in the field and it gave Michael no lack of grey hair if he thought about it too much.

Kitt had reassured him repeatedly. Although KITT appeared to lack the driver imperative that was both the blessing and curse it was, Kitt was very sure that the AI would be up to it. Give him some time.

Unfortunately death took very little time at all.

"I am sorry, Mr Knight. I should never have been party to this charade."

Michael walked to the front of the car, his eyes tracking the twin scanner parody of his partner's beacon. "No, you shouldn't have." He pressed his lips together. "But I seriously doubt it was your idea."

The black Mustang didn't answer.

He relaxed his stance; satisfied he had made his point to both AIs. "Kitt said you wanted to meet me."

"Yes, Mr Knight."

"Why?"

A pause. "I would have thought that would be obvious. You are my father's driver. Your experience and knowledge is of some value."

Michael bit back a smile. "'Some value', huh?"

"Yes, and your exploits are somewhat legendary." Somewhere in that subtly expressive voice Michael found a little awe.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Perhaps it would depend on one's point of view."

"Really? Well, I'm viewing it through grey hair, so it has its good points and bad."

"I am sorry if I have offended you."

Hmph. "KITT, you really need to learn to relax." An echo of a line said to another AI far in the past.

"Michael has recommended that to me on several occasions. However, I am what I was created to be."

"I don't know about that. In my experience, you are what you think you are. Think to be more and you will find a way."

-o-o-o-

The man was still on edge; his scanners picked that much up. Virtual eyes traced the vital stats and he regretted this encounter more and more by the minute. His father had been so adamant that this would be a successful endeavour, that disguise would be an amusing way to introduce himself.

It had felt wrong. Disguise was a tool to be used when necessary for safety and the furthering of his purpose. Not for folly. Nor to hide his identity from family, well acquainted or not. And this result had proved his belief beyond redemption.

He did not comment, his uncertainty held him back, but Michael Knight Senior continued to stand a step away from his front bumper, blue eyes tracking red scanners. After a moment, he continued speaking as if KITT had not rudely ignored him.

"So, how's it going with you and Michael?"

"We are well."

"Blown up any bad guys lately?" His tone was flippant.

"We progress as necessary and do not 'blow up' people unless we have no choice."

"Obviously."

And KITT felt he had erred yet again. "How are you and my father?"

"Good."

"It did not sound so a moment ago."

"You were listening?"

"It is hard not to when you are shouting across my hood."

"Um, yeah, sorry."

KITT virtually blinked. Did he detect a modicum of embarrassment? "There is no need to apologise to me, Mr Knight. The fault was mine."

"But not yours alone." And KITT was left wondering what verbal barrage his father would endure upon his driver's return. "You wanted to meet with me, so what do you want to talk about?"

KITT paused. A subject of conversation was not something he had considered. "I do not know."

An undefined expression flickered across the man's face. "Okay." An awkward pause. "So, uh, you and Kitt talk often?"

"On occasion. I have a great deal to learn. He has been assisting me."

"Has he? How?"

"Mostly tactical information regarding driver interaction."

It looked as if the man needed a moment to decipher that statement. "You mean Kitt has been giving you advice on how to handle your driver?"

"Yes."

"And what exactly does this advice entail?"

"Health preservation and interior cleanliness in the majority, but recently we have also been discussing the magnitude of accomplishments."

Again a range of expressions flickered across the driver's face. There was chagrin, amusement, even a little shock mixed in there along with something he still couldn't identify.

"Accomplishments?"

"Yes, my father continues to declare that you have had more women in his passenger seat than Michael has had in mine. He is determined that total number is more important than number per year. I believe his preference has more to do with who receives the trophy and who doesn't."

"Trophy?" For some reason, Michael's voice had gone up an entire octave.

"A simple electronic award system we have created. I possess two, but my father has scored the rest. He claims it to be experience. I tend to consider it to be more a factor of age than anything else." There was silence for a moment and KITT wondered whether he had revealed a little too much.

"And the two of you play this game regularly?"

"When needed."

Again there was a silence. Michael appeared to be thinking.

After a moment, "It has been very nice to finally meet you, KITT."

"And you, too, Mr Knight."

"Call me Michael."

"Yes, Michael."

He was staring at the Mustang again. "I think you're capable of more than you reveal, Knight Industries Three Thousand."

Now that struck a chord. "Do you think so?" Redundant question since Michael had just said exactly that.

"And I think you know it."

"I do?"

"You are as innocent as my partner and, yes, the joke is on him. I think your trophy list just hit three."

"Thank you, Michael." He blinked his scanners at the man and was surprised when Michael reached out and traced their tracks.

"Welcome to the family, KITT."

An unfamiliar emotion welled up and his voice was uncharacteristically wrapped in it. "Thank you, Michael."

His father's driver slowly stepped back. "And now, as you may have guessed, I have several bones to pick with your father."

"One last question?"

"Yes?"

"How did you know I was not your partner?"

He did not answer immediately and KITT once again wondered at the man's expression. There was obviously something between his father and this Michael that KITT had yet to achieve with his driver. He wondered what it was.

"You did a good job with your disguise, KITT, but you're not my partner."

"That is not a clear answer."

"No, but it will have to do."

"Very well."

"Speaking of which…" And the Trans Am appeared in the driveway of the restaurant.

A little puzzlement. "He did not communicate with you, Michael. How did you know of his arrival?"

Michael looked back at KITT. "How did you? Thank you for your introduction and I am sure we will meet again. Keep your eyes peeled and look after my son." And the man left, walking towards the gleaming black Trans Am now parked not far away.

'Eyes peeled'? "K2?"

"Yes?" His father's tone was distracted.

"You were right. He does not bite."

"We will discuss this later."

"Yes, father."

But KITT could not help but smile to himself.

His score definitely.

-o-o-o-  
FIN.


End file.
